wednesday

• bir tori amos sarkisi^*
  
  nothing here to fear
  i'm just sitting around
  being foolish when
  there is work to be done
  just a hang-up call
  and the quiet breathing
  of our persian we call
  cajun on a wednesday
  
  so we go from year to year
  with secrets we've been keeping
  though you say you're not a templar man
  
  seems as if we're circling
  for very differnet reasons
  but one day the eagle has to land
  
  out past the fountain
  a left by the station
  i start the day in the usual way
  then think -- well why not --
  and stop for a coffee
  then begin to recall
  things that you say
  
  no one's at the door
  you suggest a ghost
  perhaps a phantom
  i agree with this in part
  something is with us
  i can't put my finger on --
  is thumbelina size 10
  on a wednesday --
  
  so we go
  you tell me to cheer up
  you suspect we're oddly even
  even still the eagle has to land
  out past the fountain
  pluck up the courage
  and snap
  it's gone again
  i start humming "when doves cry"
  can someone help me
  i think that i'm lost here
  lost in a place called america